I stopped by Abdullah’s silver shop to pick out a bracelet for my mom and was embraced with open arms and a wide smile. “My brother, my brother, how are you?” I tell Abdullah of my upcoming trip to Tanzania with my mom and he insists that I pick any bracelet and accept it as his gift to “our mother.” “This is a pleasure for me Nat, this is what makes me happy. You are not a friend. For a friend I make a good price, but for a brother, I cannot accept your money.” We switch between French and Wolof as we catch up on the events of the last month. He yells at his son from time to time in Hassanya, the dialect of Arabic spoken in Mauritania, and welcomes customers with his contagious charisma.